


Prelude

by CorpulentMongoose



Series: Songs in Shadow [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic, Star Wars: Sith Era - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Politics, F/M, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpulentMongoose/pseuds/CorpulentMongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some say that Sith can never have friends – only allies. Marius has just his fellow apprentice:  the volatile Ciaran, who doesn't fit neatly into any categories. But after Ciaran causes the death of an Imperial officer, Marius may have to give up the only comrade he has ever known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter in a long piece set in the Old Republic era. Original characters, original plot. I hope to post a new "episode" every 2 weeks. Hope you enjoy it. :)
> 
> I made up the Imperial dating system used here. Years are counted from the end of the Great Hyperspace War, circa 5000 BBY.

**3661 BBY  
Imperial date 1312.11.26**

“Em-four, hold still,” the apprentice scolded. 

The modified assassin droid stopped squirming and sat upright on the workbench. “They are too tight, my lord,” it said in a flat, grating voice. “If you will allow me, I can loosen them to the proper tension.” It grabbed one of the bolts on its torso and began to twist.

“No. No.” Marius grabbed the droid’s bulky arm and forced it back down. “If you don’t stop twitching, I’ll turn you off.” He picked up the wrench and waved it threateningly. 

HK-M4 remained still, but it didn’t stop complaining. “They feel too tight.”

Marius kept working without looking up. “The bolts are tightened correctly, but your programming hasn’t been updated for the new specifications.”

“When will you update my programming?”

“If you show the proper respect, perhaps I will tell you.”

Em-four tried again. “ _Lord Marius,_ when will you update my programming?”

The Red Sith pursed narrow lips. “Soon. It’s not easy to integrate the astromech code with your current systems. There are still several glitches…” Marius fell silent. 

“My lord?”

“Wait a moment.” It was barely a ripple, but it was growing stronger. 

_A whisper…a shadow approaching…_

“Is it the Force?”

Marius turned to the droid. “Yes. Something is about to happen. I have to deactivate you.” He reached for the machine’s artificial jawline.

“No, please no, allow--”

The apprentice curtly flipped a switch, rendering the droid inert. He quickly twisted the remaining bolts, trying to remain mindful of every angle and piece of threaded metal as the Force churned around him.

The shadow crashed into the present moment like a wave. There, in his private workshop aboard the Golden Vanity, Marius felt Captain Torru die. 

The dark side made all Sith stronger and faster, but only some devotees of the Force were gifted with true extrasensory perception. All three of Darth Salire’s apprentices possessed this kind of sixth sense, but each experienced it in a different way. Vyhra described it like a phantom touching her, trying to get her attention by scratching at her skin. Ciaran’s abilities involved his sense of smell; Marius had never been able to fully grasp how that worked. His own experiences involved sound. Because of his connection to the Force, he could sometimes hear things happening at the other end of the ship.

This was one of those times. Marius heard the blaster’s safety click, heard the muffled shot and the sizzle of cooling flesh. Captain Torru fired a shot into her cranium. 

_Damn. I didn't think it would come to this._

The Red Sith furrowed his brow ridges, rapidly fixing a the last bolts to HK-M4’s exoskeleton. He returned the power ratchet to its place among the other tools hung on the wall. He folded the heavy droid into a bin and carried it to a high shelf at the back of the room. Some Sith relied upon the Force to manipulate bulky objects, but Marius had spent years developing his raw physical abilities. He liked using them.

With his workshop in order, the apprentice began to pace. The Force would help him sort out his thoughts and emotions. He focused on his feelings, opened his mind, and let the dark side trickle in.

Despite the fact that he had shown little talent for seeing visions while at the Sith Academy on Korriban, Marius had sensed when Captain Torru fired a blaster shot into her cranium as vividly as though she had expired here in his workshop. The vision’s clarity was likely because he had been watching Attla Torru, waiting for her to implode in some fashion since the Pampas mission three weeks ago. Ciaran had been playing his games again, but Marius really hadn’t expected Torru to suicide. None of Ciaran’s previous toys had killed themselves. 

_It must end; the Zabrak has taken things too far this time._

Marius considered the idea as he walked. Ciaran rarely took anything seriously enough, that was true, but Marius had come to appreciate the Zabrak’s carefree attitude over the years. It could be refreshing, at least sometimes.

_He is holding you back,_ the voice in his head continued.

_But I’m sure it’s not intentional._ He was arguing with himself—or was he? This was the danger in allowing the dark side to guide his decisions. The Force made Marius hear things. He assumed that the events creating the sounds in his head were actually occurring somewhere in the universe, but he couldn’t be absolutely certain. Could the Force create experiences for him that had no basis in reality?

If the dark side spoke to him, what would it sound like?

Sometimes he wasn’t sure whether his thoughts were his own.

He reached the far wall of the distant workshop. He spun on his heel and started back along the same line, clenching his fists and his jaw. As much as he disliked the possibility of losing control over his thoughts and feelings, he wanted the insight that the Force could offer. Obviously, he needed to do something about his fellow apprentice, but none of his options were particularly appealing.

One possibility was to confront the other apprentice again, but Marius didn’t think a second discussion would be any more productive than the first. Marius smirked despite his frustration. Ciaran had laughed and said “take the saber hilt out of your ass.” No, nagging the Zabrak wouldn’t work. Besides, Marius never asked twice for something. Not from anyone.

He could go to Darth Salire. No doubt she would put an end to Ciaran’s destructive games, but Ciaran would certainly retaliate against such an egregious betrayal. The two apprentices had known each other since they were younglings. They had gone through the Academy together. Neither had ever thrown the other in front of the proverbial speeder in order to gain prestige there. It had simply never made sense to do so, for Marius at least. The long-term benefits of having a reliable partner had always outweighed any short-term opportunities. 

Since being recruited together from the Academy to their positions with Darth Salire, Marius and Ciaran had always worked side-by-side, mission after mission.

Marius spun about as he reached the other end of his circuit, his heavy black robe whipping around behind him.

Doing nothing was the second option. Ciaran was the closest thing to a friend that Marius would ever have among the Sith. If he were to tell their master about Ciaran’s transgressions, he would violate the most important of the unspoken rules that defined his partnership with the Zabrak. Perhaps he shouldn’t risk losing such an asset over a few broken officers.

_You’re no longer in the Academy. What are the benefits now?_

_I suppose I enjoy Ciaran's company._ He felt ashamed to admit it. Desire for friendship was a vulnerability, and Sith did not tolerate weakness. But it was important that he understand the truth of his own feelings, even if they disturbed him. Knowledge of the self was a form of power, too. 

His boot squealed against the polished floor as Marius turned. 

A true Sith wouldn’t allow any relationships he did have to impede his advancement. He and Ciaran had enjoyed an amicable rapport for the past eight years, but his future should not—could not—be chained by the past. And after all, if their alliance did fall apart, wouldn’t Ciaran be to blame? Up until the moment he created a game of plunging Imperial officers into pits of disillusionment, hadn’t everything been going well?

Perhaps not. Again, seething, Marius forced himself to acknowledge a difficult truth. He was bored with this post. He and Ciaran had been Darth Salire’s apprentices for twelve months, and all they had accomplished were a handful of paltry infiltrations and local assassinations. Marius was too talented to waste as a glorified bounty hunter on backwater planets like Pampas. He deserved a command. He was ready for a new challenge.

The dark side whispered. Marius halted mid-stride.

He headed for the exit.

He wanted more power and autonomy, but he wouldn’t get either if Ciaran continued demolishing the psyches of people under their shared command. In Darth Salire’s eyes, the other apprentice’s behavior had probably already tarnished Marius’ prized reputation for efficiency and competence.

If their master could get Ciaran back under control so they could continue working together, that would be ideal. But at the very least, Marius’ own plans for himself could continue forward. He would not allow his relationship with Ciaran to weaken him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The genesis of friendship among the Sith requires specific conditions. This is how Marius and Ciaran met, several years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got to thinking about what a militaristic, oligarchic society would do with a bunch of pre-teens with supernatural powers. Probably the same thing the Republic does -- send them to school, or some version thereof. But while the Jedi Academy fosters qualities like empathy and personal restraint in its students, the Sith version would encourage very different mores.
> 
> It did occur to me as I wrote this chapter that there are probably thousands of students in real life whose experiences with bullying are somewhat similar to Ciaran's. I feel for them.

**3671 BBY  
Imperial date 1302.03.21**

The Pureblood woman's ruby hair was so tightly braided it looked painful, but her voice was cool and relaxed. Bored, even. “Run as fast as you can, from here to the other side of the gymnasium, then back. Ready, and begin.” 

The young Sith sprinted. He touched the crumbling wall at the far end of the gym, then sprinted back. He quickly caught his breath.

Assessor Price scratched more notes on a datapad. She had already submitted Marius to hours of grueling tests, and not once had she hinted at how well Marius was doing, or how poorly. Just tests for everything, all day. Obstacle courses punctuated by quizzes on math and Sith history. Questions to measure Force sensitivity. Exams for emotional readiness.

Marius loved it. 

The Assessor looked up, stylus in hand. “The staff here tell me you perform well in academics — better than most of your peers. Why do you think this is?” 

Marius shrugged. “I read more than they do.”

Scribbling. “What image is displayed on my datapad?” 

“A starship...no. A dreadnaught. Harrower class.”

Hours passed, and finally Price made one last mark on the datapad. “Congratulations. You’ve qualified for the Lower Academy.” She sounded half-asleep.

The young Pureblood frowned. “That’s it? No more tests?”

“Correct. Clean up, then we’ll go to the ship.”

“Do I need to bring anything?”

The Assessor began packing equipment into her satchel. “Do you own anything?”

“No.”

“Nothing for you to pack, then. They’ll give you a uniform at the prep school.”

Marius showered and dressed quickly in the communal locker room. He pulled a fresh pair of black trousers and a shirt from the laundry, taking a moment to double-check the sizes. The orphanage stored all clothing in the same tall cabinet. Dressed, and with nothing else to grab for the journey, Marius ran through the hallways, ignoring curious stares from the other Pureblood boys and girls. 

Assessor Price waited in the commons area, yawning. She led him to a small ship parked on the drought-stricken lawn. 

“Today’s my birthday, you know,” Marius remarked as he followed Price into the ship. 

“That’s nice,” she responded automatically.

“I can hardly believe I’m getting out of here. It’s so sudden.”

“Young man,” the woman sighed. “You’re not going to get a farewell party.” She sat in the pilot seat and began flipping switches, preparing hyperspace coordinates to the Horuset system.

“That’s not what I meant,” Marius tried to say, but the Assessor continued right over his objections. 

“You are being given a great opportunity,” she lectured, “and in life you’ll often you need to abandon your past in order to move forward. ” 

“I just wanted to thank you. Leaving this place is kind of like a birthday present.”

Price didn’t hear him. “How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

She turned back to the dashboard. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye to your friends at the orphanage. It makes it harder for you children to move on, so I always skip farewells with the recruits I bring in. You’re young; you’ll learn soon enough why it’s important to let go.”

Marius already understood, of course, but it wasn’t worth arguing with the inattentive Assessor. He gave up and simply nodded in mute agreement. Letting go was a lesson Marius learned that lesson years ago, when the pale woman murdered his loving parents and then dumped him at the orphanage. 

As the ship rose into the sky, Marius tried to recall memories of his parents -- a sound, a smell, an image. Nothing surfaced.

That was a good thing. He was only seven when his parents died. For a while afterwards he tried to hold on to the memories, but grief tore at him like a hurricane thrashes a solitary tree. It nearly destroyed him. 

To survive, Marius became the storm; he drowned what he remembered of his parents, killing them a second time. With them died any further desire he had for companionship. That’s why Marius had no friends at the orphanage, and had no need for farewells. 

*****  
The Lower Academy wasn't nearly as cutthroat as the Sith Academy on Korriban that Marius would eventually attend, but the Instructors did encourage a certain level of scheming and competition among the children and encouraged the younglings to form cliques. Many of the galaxy’s future warlords would first learn how to wield power on the school grounds, as bullies and gang leaders.

Marius stayed apart, having learned to avoid such intrigues during his years at the orphanage. Getting involved with one group could offer you protection against the others, but it could also make you a target. Instead, he threw himself at his studies and tried to just stay out of it. The others inevitably targeted him, believing that his solitude was a sign of weakness. Marius’ response was delicately planned and shockingly violent. After that, they let him be. 

The library and the gymnasium were two of the few locations where the gangs held no sway, so that’s where Marius spent his time. In the morning before class, he went to exercise, alone. In the afternoon, he went to read, alone. He volunteered in the droid repair shop in the evening, just as something to do. It was his routine for two years.

*****  
 **3675 BBY  
Imperial date 1305.08.14**

It was dusk when Marius heard the fight. He ducked behind a tree in the courtyard and resigned himself to waiting. After a long evening at the shop, Marius just wanted to get back to his dormitory. The evening shadows would hopefully conceal him until the scuffle was over. 

A wiry Zabrak boy raced into view, followed hotly by two humans — a redheaded boy and a solidly-built blonde girl. “Aww, don’t run away,” the girl taunted. “You’ll just wear yourself out before we’ve had any real fun. I’m serious. We just want to talk.” 

Marius recognized the humans as followers of Vane Solanus. The Solanus family was one of a few wealthy Sith families that willingly sent their Force-sensitive children into the preparatory school system. Vane liked to make sure everyone knew where she came from, and she had built quite a following. These humans, Descedi and Knortas, were hers. 

The boy Knortas dove for the Zabrak’s legs, tumbling them both to the stone sidewalk.

“I’m not running,” the Zabrak asserted, sitting up. “Just re-locating. The scenery is better out here.” 

Descedi slid to a halt and stood over him. “It doesn’t matter where you are, gutter bait. If we want to, we can smash you in the hallways or here in the courtyard. It’s all the same to us.” She cracked her knuckles.

Knortas pulled himself from the ground. “Just hold on, ‘Scedi,” he said. “Listen. We told you that the East Wing game center is only for Vane’s people. If you were one of us, we wouldn’t have to punish you for trespassing.” 

“I already said that I’m not going to join your stupid gang,” the Zabrak responded, springing to his feet. He was a tan-skinned boy with a headful of short horns and no hair. “I’m not going to join yours or anyone else’s.”

Both Knortas and Descedi seemed genuinely surprised. “Ciaran, you don’t get it. The group is for protection,” Knortas protested. “You join us, and we’ll look after you.”

Descedi nodded. “We watch each other’s backs, Vane and the rest of us. Without people, you’re…vulnerable.” She smiled flatly.

Ciaran the Zabrak grunted a single, knowing syllable of a laugh. “Hah. I stick with you and Vane, and in return you guard me from the other goon crews in this place. Also, I instantly become enemies with all your rivals, and I have to do whatever Vane says for the rest of my time here, because no one leaves the group. Is that right?”

The two humans exchanged looks and shrugged. “Sure, there are some tradeoffs,” Knortas hedged. 

“It was the same way on Ord Mantell. I’m not interested.” Ciaran fixed his eyes on Descedi, who rolled her eyes. “Now let me go.”

The girl’s hand snatched for the Zabrak’s poly-fiber shirt, but the latter twisted easily away. He kicked out, his boot crunching painfully against Descedi’s hand. “OW!” she roared, and then lunged at the Zabrak. Knortas followed suit.

Ciaran was younger, smaller, and alone, but what he lacked in stature he made up for in ferocity. For every hit the horned boy took, he dished out three at least as hard. It was a good fight. 

Marius was glad for that, at least. He didn’t care about the outcome of most brawls, but he didn’t want to watch this Ciaran get trounced. It took courage to refuse what Knortas and Descedi offered.

_Slap, slap, slap._ A murmur in the Force; Marius heard footsteps. Two beings were rapidly approaching along the sidewalk behind him. He sensed they were intent on the fight.

The scuffle continued, fists and feet whipping through the air at speeds that only those attuned to the Force could follow—or avoid. Marius peeked at the three combatants just as Ciaran dealt a nasty blow to Descedi’s nose. She stumbled off to the side and clutched at her face. When the two newcomers burst into the courtyard, she called out to them.

“It’s about time you showed up!” Descedi sputtered, blood seeping through her fingers. Her new allies consisted of a human boy named Brend, some sort of Rattataki half-breed with gray skin, and Vane Solanus. 

The gang's reinforcements made short work of it. Ciaran was on his knees within a minute. The cobblestone tore at his clothes as he struggled, but Knortas and the Rattataki pinned his arms and held him still. Vane, the Pureblood ringleader, leaned over the boy with an expression of distaste. She wore a filigreed tiara nested in her hair.

Marius stood.

“Scedi, what’s this?” sneered Vane. 

The girl spat blood before replying. “This uppity Zabrak is new. He hasn’t learned our rules yet.” Descedi grabbed Ciaran’s ear and leaned in. “Now listen — blast it, hold him, Nort!”

The Zabrak had tried to head-butt her. The boys wrestled him back. “Don’t call me that,” Knortas muttered.

Slowly, Marius stepped from behind the tree.

“Let’s try again,” Descedi began, but Vane interrupted her.

“Shh. I’ll handle this,” Vane said. She knelt to Ciaran's level. “You’re new here, Zabrak. But you have to learn quickly, and I can help you with that. At this place, the first rule is—”

The Force carried Marius across the courtyard and into the back of Vane’s head, knocking her out instantly. He followed up with a turning side kick, connecting solidly with Knortas’ diaphragm. The boy doubled over, his face green.

The dark side sang joyously in his mind. Marius planted his foot and cracked out with his other leg, the round kick snapping against the half-breed’s knee. The boy crumpled. Marius whipped around to confront Descedi, but the sour-faced girl had already taken flight. He saw her sprint into a distant residence hall.

Marius looked down at Vane's motionless form. “Watch your back. That’s the first rule.” He turned to see Ciaran nonchalantly dusting himself off. Marius spoke without thinking. “We have to get out of here. Are you all right?”

The Zabrak eyed him suspiciously. “We?”

Marius shrugged. He hadn't meant to say it anyway. He began to walk towards his dormitory. 

“Wait — wait,” said the Zabrak, coughing slightly. He wore the same clothes as all the other students: the black polyfiber t-shirt, gray cargo pants, training boots. Notably absent were the jewelry and accessories worn by students like Vane, whose families who could afford gifts.

Ciaran jogged to Marius’ side. “That was impressive. That Descedi girl seemed terrified of you.”

Marius smiled. “She thinks I’m going to set fire to her dorm room.”

“Are you?”

“I’ve done it to others.”

Ciaran nodded. The doors to the building slid open. “Why did you help me?” 

After a pause, Marius answered. “I heard you mention Ord Mantell."

“Yeah.”

“What's it like there?”

“It's a shit hole. I hear the ports are nice, but I never saw them. At least not the nice parts.”

“Vane’s family is an old Pureblood legacy. Everything gets handed to her. Not so for us.” Marius paused at the bottom of a grand staircase, looking up. The steps seemed to go on forever. 

The Zabrak stopped next to him. “I’m Ciaran,” he said, extending his hand. “Friends?”

Marius looked from Ciaran’s tanned face to the offered palm. He shook it. “Marius,” he responded. “Allies.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened on Pampas. Occurs 3 weeks before the events of Chapter 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about the Sith provides so many opportunities to contemplate the nature of evil. I hope to explore many sides of that issue throughout the series, but one thing I think that all 'evil' characters (and people) have in common is the tendency to find delight in the suffering of others. 
> 
> Note that I changed the BBY dates on this and the previous chapters -- I goofed it the first time I posted.

**3661 BBY  
Imperial date 1312.11.05**

 

“Like the others, this one wasn’t very forthcoming with information about our target,” Ciaran said to Captain Torru, rising from the suffering man and turning to face them. “No matter, I suppose. I saw on the monitor that Marius already located Zarrato and his family. I can only assume that he’s already executed Zarrato and taken his wife and daughter back to the ship.” He adjusted one of his bandoliers. “He really ought to slow down and enjoy himself more during these missions. A life without fun does strange things to a person.”

Both officers were silent, their faces illuminated in glow of the monitoring screens. 

Noting their ashen expressions, Ciaran continued in a cheerful tone. “Sergeant Daws was very helpful during the interrogation, though I can sense he now has some regrets in being my assistant. You shouldn’t doubt yourself, Sergeant. All of this helps protect our beloved Empire.” 

The two humans remained motionless as Ciaran again crouched over the man in the center of the floor. “Pulse is still strong. It’s quite amazing, the how long a body can last after being sliced by a lightsaber. Hours, sometimes days.” 

The man wore a blue uniform and an ID badge that read POL CHEN, SECURITY. Ciaran’s role in the assault had been to infiltrate the compound and disable the security systems, while Marius held the guards’ attention at the front gate. It hadn’t been a challenge for the Zabrak to breach the central security hub, despite the monstrous droids that had guarded the room. Once inside, Ciaran had found only a handful of personnel. He had preserved Mr. Chen to use as a prop in this gory theatre for the Captain. 

Both of the man’s legs were gone, sliced off piece by piece by Ciaran’s sabers during the last thirty minutes. The room was nevertheless quite clean. Lightsabers and blasters didn’t shed blood. 

Ciaran leaned in and examined the man’s face. Chen’s eyes were closed, but there were tears, the slow kind. Ciaran remembered slow, despairing tears. He also remembered fast tears, full of hot grief and anger. But it had been thirteen years since Ciaran last wept for anything. He reached out and brushed at Chen’s face, but his leather gloves were treated against moisture. The beads of liquid fell away.

“I think you should go, Daws,” Torru quietly said to the man standing next to her. Sergeant Daws made no objection. He exited the room as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

The tattooed Zabrak reached out with the Force and peered into Torru’s mind, inhaling and savoring the turmoil within. She and her loyal sergeant friend had seen incredible violence during their time in service, and they had committed horrific acts. That’s what war required, they told themselves. Sacrifices had to be made in order to preserve the security of the general populace. You have to bend the laws of decency against your enemies so that civilians, including your family and friends, could enjoy those laws back home. But you weren’t supposed to bend those rules when you didn’t have to. 

Torru believed in these ideas down to her core, and so did many others in the Empire.

Ciaran’s antics with the prisoner certainly didn’t fit within that paradigm of morality, but crushing others’ naïve illusions was his newest game. There was no place in the Sith Empire for the laws of decency. The Sith followed the laws of nature. Might makes right. Eat or be eaten. 

Captain Torru would not want to face this truth, but Ciaran had a plan.

Color rose to the Captain’s cheeks. _Anger, though, not embarrassment,_ the Force told him. “I’m just confused,” Torru lied. “What’s the purpose of all this?” She indicated the man on the floor, though she kept her eyes averted. “Why keep him alive? We’ve completed our mission. Why not put him out of his misery? Are you trying to learn something? Because I don’t think all this is an effective form of interrogation.”

Ciaran shrugged and rose from the floor. “Oh, I was simply bored. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Of course not, Lord Ciaran, but…” Torru trailed off.

“…but you feel I should at least be able to explain how my actions benefit the Empire.” He chuckled. “Captain Torru, I enjoy officers like you. You have so much passion for the system, such as it is.” 

Taking up a place in the doorway, the apprentice tapped a gloved finger against his blackened lower lip. "As we assaulted the compound, I could feel the sense of purpose behind your actions—something you have instilled in the soldiers you command. You feel good coming here to the Outer Rim, hunting brigands. For you, the Empire offers an orderly existence to those who have known nothing but chaos.” Ciaran cocked his blackened head. “Isn’t that what you believe?”

“My grandfather,” she explained, “he came from the Rim. He always told me that his life was empty before he joined the Sith Empire.” She raised her chin proudly. “He said it gave his life direction, making the galaxy a more lawful place.”

“The purpose of the Sith Empire is not to civilize the unwashed masses of the galaxy, Captain Torru.”

“I know, my lord—its purpose is to carry out the will of the Sith Emperor,” she responded in a rush. “But so many people have found a better life within the Empire. Those lives aren't just an unintended byproduct of our expansion. They can't be.” 

He shrugged, enjoying the exchange. "The Emperor probably wants to dominate the galaxy, like most Sith Lords do.”

“But why?”

“Because it feels good.”

Captain Torru stared at him blankly. 

“I’ll show you. Hold out your hand,” Ciaran directed. Of course Torru wouldn't resist. Her curiosity and faith would overcome her confusion and apprehension.

The game was playing out exactly as he intended.

Torru held out her right hand, still wearing a pale plasteel gauntlet. “No, without the armor.” 

The Captain obediently removed her gloves, undoing the clasps and removing the fabric liner with the help of her teeth. After flexing her fingers a few times, she again held out her right hand. Ciaran swiftly placed one of his lightsabers into her grasp, and Torru nearly dropped the weapon on the floor. 

“I—no,” she stammered, holding the object at arm’s length. “It isn’t allowed. I shouldn’t be --” 

“I allow it,” Ciaran responded firmly. “I made it, I learned how to use it, and I decide who holds it. Now,” he steadied her wrist and rotated the hilt with his other hand. He was still wearing his gloves. “Here is the switch. The blade appears here. Don’t get the ends confused.” He stepped back. “Go ahead. Ignite it.”

Torru grasped the blade with her other hand, carefully pointing the weapon towards the ceiling. She pressed her thumb against the switch, and a glowing red beam hissed to life. “It vibrates a little bit.” She looked at the man on the floor, then back to Ciaran. “You want me to kill him with the lightsaber, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why him?”

“Why any of them? We’ve both killed many security guards today.”

“But this is different.”

“Is it?”

Torru exhaled, lowering the saber and glancing around the room. Her eyes settled on the dark pile of bodies, stacked to the side. “Will it help me understand what you said about the Emperor?” 

“I think so.” Perfect.

She nodded decisively and leaned over the man, raising the weapon. Pol Chen closed his eyes as the lightsaber descended.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after Captain Torru's suicide, Marius meets with his master, Darth Salire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after our short detour into the past, we're back in the present day. 
> 
> Sorry for the slow update schedule, folks -- not only is it the holiday season here in the US, but I'm also working 50-60 hours per week. My idea of a perfect retirement is to do nothing but write fanfiction, read, and play video games, but alas, I'm about 40 years away from realizing that dream. :/ 
> 
> I'll continue trying to add a new chapter at least every two weeks. Thanks for sticking with Marius and me!

**3661 BBY  
Imperial date 1312.11.26  
Present Day**

 

Most Imperial ships were full of humans, near-humans, and droids, buzzing with activity like a hive of Pembrican hornets. By contrast, this level of the _Golden Vanity_ was practically empty. Nearly all of this deck was reserved for Salire’s three apprentices. It also was home to the many aides and slaves serving Vyrha, Salire’s human apprentice. Marius didn’t have an entourage. Yet.

His combat boots thudded heavily against the white terrazzo floors of the _Vanity_ and echoed off its bare walls. He wore traditional apprentice’s garb: robe, gauntlets, a tunic fitted comfortably over body armor, everything black. At two meters tall and over one-hundred-twenty kilos, the people on the _Vanity_ probably would have avoided Marius simply based on his imposing size, had he not been a Sith. 

As a youngling, his half-human parentage had been obvious, and the other children at the Sith orphanage had occasionally taunted him for his appearance. In the years after Assessor Price took him away from there, Marius had grown into a formidable member of the Sith species in its current form, and this gave him great satisfaction. Today Marius wore his hood back, revealing his short black hair and blood-red skin. A ridge of short bone spurs framed his yellow eyes instead of the hairy brows sported by humans. Two short tendrils hung from the sides of his jaw.

Even if he had remained more human than Pureblood in appearance, what would it have mattered? Most of those children were probably dead, casualties of the Academy’s harsh methods of instruction, or sacrifices to the ongoing war against the Republic. By contrast, Marius was thriving. He was a Sith warrior, tall and strong from two decades of training.

Marius encountered no one as he walked to the nearest elevator bay. It was a bit disappointing. He liked to observe the effect he had on people.

He stepped into the lift, admiring the smattering of stars visible through the transparent walls. The starscape didn’t move, even as Marius felt the floor shift beneath him. He could see the interior of the ship zipping past as the elevator car descended. Marius had a great appreciation for the ship’s design. Transparent walls in a turbolift were expensive, but Salire had created the _Golden Vanity_ to impress.

It was more aesthetically pleasing than most ships in the Sith Empire. An elite firm on Drommund Kaas had designed the cruiser’s visage to resemble an albosca shark from Salire’s world of origin, an obscure ocean moon. This piscean design gave the ship its unusual vertical orientation. While most cruisers were long and flat, like torpedoes, the _Vanity_ housed all its inhabitants, spacecraft, and cargo in huge dorsal and ventral “fins”. 

Most large ships were horizontal because Sith Purebloods and other bipedal species had the misplaced instinct to make all ships aerodynamic, but some impracticalities also discouraged vertical spacecraft—namely, the need for expensive elevators to move crew members and supplies away from the center of the ship’s artificial gravity generator. However, the Vanity was not intended to serve merely as a mobile base for interstellar operations. It was the flagship of Salire’s personal fleet, built to intimidate enemies, amaze allies, crush opponents and galvanize her followers. No expenses were spared. The _Vanity_ had transparent elevators.

The lift door opened and Marius stepped into a sweeping reception area.

The rest of the Vanity was dominated by elegant gray and white decor, but Salire’s personal chambers aboard the ship were soaked in deep blues and the occasional vivid turquoise accent piece. Like the exterior of the ship, it was designed to evoke the aesthetic of the ocean that covered much of the Sith Lord’s home world. The vast room seemed both peaceful and ominous. A huge chandelier of pearly white glass, shaped to resemble the rays of a pale sun, hung from the ceiling far above. 

A single large desk of brushed steel, staffed by a trio of Twi’lek slaves, was the centerpiece of the room. The colorful aliens greeted visitors and escorted them to their proper location. Elsewhere in the Empire, slaves were powerless, subservient to even the lowliest indentured servant. Not so in this room. Everyone who wanted to see the Darth had to go through the Twi’leks, from the newest sub-lieutenant to the other Sith Lords who occasionally visited. That included Salire’s own apprentices.

Marius hated being addressed and ordered about by aliens, which of course was the aim of the whole procedure. The Twi’lek receptionists were a means for Salire to flaunt her power. Marius begrudgingly admired the tactic. 

The apprentice frowned and approached the desk, demanding the attention of a thin, violet-hued male. “I wish to see Darth Salire. Immediately.” 

“Yes, Lord Marius,” the male responded respectfully. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” he growled. “It is urgent.”

“Of course, my lord.” The slave delicately pressed a few buttons on a tactile holograph display. Marius glared down at the man. Someday—hopefully soon—he would have his own ship, and maybe his own slaves. If he did ever have any aliens aboard his ship, they would have to do more than sit at a desk and waylay important visitors.

“Well?” Marius pressed after a few moments. 

The violet Twi’lek was unfazed by the Sith’s verbal aggression. “Her lordship Darth Salire is currently with another caller,” he paused briefly and checked the readout. His eyes widened slightly. “But…it seems she is expecting you. She desires that you see her without delay.”

“Who is with her now?”

“I am not at liberty to provide such information. If you’ll come with me, Lord Marius.” The Twi’lek grabbed a datapad from behind the desk and gestured to an elevator directly behind the desk.

“I know my way,” Marius said, stepping towards the arched staircase in the back of the room. The slave insisted on accompanying him, but he almost had to jog to keep up with the taller man’s powerful strides. Marius took the wide steps two at a time. 

If the main decks of the _Vanity_ were impressive, Salire’s private floors were palatial. The hallways twisted and curved, unlike the straight and uniform corridors in the rest of the ship. The walls were transparent, but could be made opaque at the touch of a button. The apprentice and the Twi’lek slave walked past meditation chambers of varying sizes and designs, followed by saunas and massage parlors, a swimming pool which doubled as a giant aquarium, and a communications center that was so powerful it had its own dedicated energy source. 

There was even a large gymnasium built to withstand Salire’s combat training sessions. Ciaran had once said that it was constructed from a chamber originally designed to test thermal detonators. Marius doubted the veracity of that particular rumor, but he had no doubt that the dark hallways through which he and the Twi’lek slave now walked held many intimidating secrets.

“That is all,” Marius said when the hall terminated at a nondescript door. The slave bowed respectfully and began walking back the way they had come. The Twi’lek paused at a distant corner to cast one curious glance back in the apprentice’s direction, but Marius was too preoccupied to notice.

The apprentice stepped into a dark room with a domed ceiling of moderate height. It was softly lit with dozens of cone-shaped light fixtures along the walls. Ghostly blue planets rotated across a huge holotable, displaying the _Vanity’s_ trajectory through the local solar system. The room was impressive, but in a functional sense; it was nowhere near as lavish as the reception hall. Marius could feel comfortable in such a space, if it weren’t for the main occupant.

“I am here, Marius,” his master’s voice rang, cold and sharp as ice. 

Darth Salire sat on a simple leather hoverchair on a dais at the opposite end of the room, one hand resting casually on an armrest, the other holding a datapad up for her to scrutinize. She seemed relaxed, but so did a sleeping tuk’ata hound. Marius had learned to avoid making assumptions about his master’s state of mind. 

He needed to be careful. Salire might agree to intervene with Ciaran, but she could also view the whole issue as a complete waste of her time. That would go badly for Marius. Though he valued his master’s teachings and the prestige that came with being her apprentice, he didn’t trust Salire. History proved that Sith Lords could be manipulative and specious, especially with their apprentices. 

Marius glanced around for the other being that the Twi’lek had mentioned, but he saw no one. He approached the dais and kneeled before the Sith Lord.

“Master,” he said reverently. Focusing inward, he recalled the emotions he felt in his workshop minutes ago, and the dark side again filled him with confidence. He was doing the right thing. 

He glanced up. The skintight black pullover mask Salire wore revealed only that she possessed all the usual features—nose, eyes, ears—but nothing of greater detail. He had always wondered if the mask allowed Salire unrestricted vision, or if she was so powerful in the Force that she no longer required to see in the traditional sense. She perceived him regardless, her expression unreadable.

“Apprentice,” she replied in an equally impenetrable tone. Salire set the datapad down on a side table and folded her gloved hands in her lap. “Something troubles you. Speak.”

“It’s Ciaran, Master,” Marius replied. “His, ah, extracurricular activities with the officers have gone too far. He’s costing us resources.”

Salire remained motionless. “I see. Can you provide an example?”

“Captain Attla Torru. She was captain of the 203rd, the assault platoon that accompanied us on the mission to Pampas three weeks ago. Ciaran did something to her while we were there, abused her in some way, and she has been floundering since. She killed herself just thirty minutes ago.”

“And why should I care about the death of a single officer?” 

Apprehension shot through him, but after a breath’s hesitation, Marius realized Salire wasn’t being sarcastic. She was testing him. “She was a good leader, Master,” he continued to explain. “I looked up the platoon’s casualty rates. Her soldiers performed well above average. There’s a ninety percent chance that the platoon will be less effective under her replacement.”

“Very well,” Salire said crisply. “Yet Attla Torru is not the first officer that Ciaran has abused in such a manner. Why are you only now voicing concern about your fellow apprentice?”

Marius frowned, his sense of conviction wavering. “You knew of his actions?”

“Of course I did,” his master chided casually, dismissing his question with an elegant flick of her hand. “This should not surprise you, apprentice. Knowledge is a Sith Lord’s business. You should assume I am aware of everything that happens aboard this ship.” She steepled her fingers and cocked her head slightly to one side. “I can sense your resentment, Marius. Answer my question.”

Marius nodded. This was starting to feel like trap. He was angry at being manipulated, but instead of smothering the feeling, he used it to bolster his confidence. If Salire was manipulating him, he would find out why. 

“When I was in the Academy, I would have dismissed the death of a single officer without a thought. But now, I am aboard your ship, and I work closely with the Imperial military. I have come to believe that the needless loss of one effective officer can have wider consequences.”

“Like my droidmaking tools,” Marius continued. “If I were to treat them carelessly, they would wear down faster, and replacing them would be expensive. The military personnel are the tools of the our Empire. We need every advantage we can get against the Republic, and I doubt the Jedi are killing off their own officers for entertainment.” He flexed his fists against the floor for emphasis, looking directly at his master. “Ciaran’s actions weaken the Empire.”

“Good.” Darth Salire stood from the hoverchair and walked towards the window, folding her gloved hands behind her back. “Rise.” 

Marius stood from his kneeling position on the floor and walked to his master’s side. He towered over the diminutive Sith Lord. Salire couldn’t have stood more than a meter and a half tall, but physical stature didn’t dictate the amount of skill one possessed with the Force. She was dangerous, and Marius didn’t know how far he could push her, but he wanted answers. “Master,” the apprentice asked boldly, “what is all of this about?”

“I have been aware of Ciaran’s exploits for some time,” Salire responded. “I used them as an opportunity to catalyze your ambition.”

Marius was taken aback. “My ambition? Have I not successfully completed every mission you’ve set before me?”

“That was the exact problem,” Salire responded. “Your execution was flawless, every time. The missions didn’t challenge you or test your abilities. You are capable of much more than the tasks I’ve put before you.”

Resentment again rippled through the Force. “I know,” Marius growled.

“Yet you did nothing about it for months. You feel trapped in your current role,” Salire continued. “You yearn for a command of your own, but until today, you have done nothing to seize this desire of yours.”

He spoke without thinking. “I trusted you would put my abilities to good use.” It sounded much more sullen than he had intended.

His master went quiet for several seconds. The featureless stare of her black mask unnerved him, and when she did speak to Marius again, her tone was sharp and biting. “Trust no one with your hopes and dreams but yourself, apprentice. A true Sith creates her own opportunities.” She spread her hands, indicating the powerful cruiser in which they travelled.

Marius nodded, feeling like he dodged a blaster shot. “Yes, Master.”

Salire stared at him for a while, tension reverberating in the Force during the pregnant silence. Then she abruptly turned and walked back to her hoverchair. “A desire to accomplish something meaningful with your existence. The drive to grow and expand your skills. These things are ambition, and my plans have no room for an apprentice who is limited in this. Fortunately, you have potential.”

She turned gracefully and sat. “Ciaran’s actions were indeed harmful to the Empire, and he was holding you back. But you have been his partner for many years. I needed to know which you valued more: your friendship with him, or your ambitions as a Sith. Today you gave me your answer, so I am giving you what you want. A ship, and a sub-lieutenant named Delos Kayd, will be placed under your command. You’ll be going on an extended mission to the Hutt territories.”

Marius prickled with excitement and pride. “Thank you, Master. What is the objective?”

“Your first engagement is at the resort tower of Jurda the Hutt on Nar Shaddaa. His cartel has been very successful in slaves and spice, but he’s looking to diversify his operation. Jurda is hosting a week-long festival of sorts to court and assess new partners. You’ll be my representative.”

“Excellent.” Technically it was a non-combat mission, which was not his specialty. But Nar Shaddaa was a planet full of gangsters and varied rabble. Marius suspected that he and Sub-Lieutenant Kayd would see their fair share of fighting on the Hutt world. “I do have one more question.”

Salire nodded.

“What will happen to Ciaran?”

He could feel the chill of his master’s disapproval. “You are too attached to this Zabrak.”

“I just…I want to know if he’ll be joining me on Nar Shadaa.”

“Do you want him to?”

Marius examined his feelings. “No,” he finally said. He felt surprised by the answer he gave, but it was the truth. He was learning so much about himself today. “I want to succeed on my own this time. And yet, I feel like I should want Ciaran to come with us.”

“I’m sure he’d appreciate your loyalty,” Salire said dryly. “Ciaran’s ambitions are of a different nature than yours, and I have other plans for him. He won’t be accompanying you.”

Darth Salire picked up the datapad again, a clear gesture of dismissal. Marius spoke anyway. “Are you going to punish him for killing Torru?”

Salire slapped the datapad down on her lap. “I am not a holocron to be queried with endless questions, apprentice,” she snapped. “Ciaran toyed with the officers because he was bored, and because I allowed it. I can almost guarantee that he’ll never be bored again. I’ll be putting him to good use.”

Marius sensed the distinct impression of a smiling face—flaming silver eyes, pale lips curved in malicious delight. The image flashed through the Force and was gone.

“Besides,” Salire continued. “Your Zabrak friend traumatized Captain Torru, but not enough so that she’d kill herself. That was me. I pushed her over the edge.”

Marius blinked. Manipulative and specious, he thought again.

“Your first engagement is scheduled in ten days. You will receive further instructions when you return to your chambers. Go, Marius.” Darth Salire returned to the datapad, spinning the hoverchair so that her back was turned to him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciaran doesn't deal with rejection very well.
> 
> Note that this chapter has profanity and some sexual themes, because Ciaran is not a nice guy.

**3661 BBY  
Imperial date 1312.11.26**

 

Pounding at the door wrenched Ciaran from a troubled sleep. He blinked in the dark, catching the scent of Marius’ Force-signature. The Red Sith was waiting in the hallway. 

“Hells.” He sat up reluctantly and pushed at the Theelin slave girl who lay curled next to him. She was buried somewhere under a pile of blankets. Ciaran had reserved the rare alien for a few days to help pass the time before his departure, since Marius had abandoned him for his own preparations. Of course the kriffing traitor would show up some time before he left. Marius hated loose ends.

More pounding, and a muffled voice. “JUST WAIT.” Ciaran emphasized his words by shoving his feelings of irritation at his fellow apprentice. He sensed Marius’ stinging response through the Force a moment later. Apparently the snotty Pureblood was also vexed.

Ciaran’s outburst jolted the Theelin girl awake. “Get _up_ ,” Ciaran pushed at her again. “Go get the door.”

“Yes, my lord,” she replied automatically, her flutelike voice hoarse from sleep. She stumbled from the bed and rubbed her eyes, walking to the door in her underclothes. Maybe she was too hungover to care about covering herself, or maybe lack of physical modesty was simply a feature of the Theelin species. They were supposed to be very artistic.

Ciaran couldn’t speak to the girl’s talents except for in one particular area. The slave keepers aboard the _Vanity_ trained their stock well.

The spry Zabrak sprung out of bed and picked his way across the floor, which was littered with clothing and the discarded artifacts of a night’s entertainment. He snatched his robes and lightsaber from a hook on the wall and bounced into his trousers. In the common room of his chambers, a wall-mounted holograph display still projected GAME OVER into the air. Ciaran switched off the device and stalked over to the kitchenette, dressing as he went. 

The girl reached the door at the opposite end of the chamber. She pressed a button on the access panel, and the portal quietly slid open. There Marius stood, his imposing height framed by a bright artificial glow from the corridor. The Sith gave the scantily-clad female a skeptical look which quickly curdled into disgust. Like most Purebloods, Marius openly reviled aliens, and Theelin were undeniably aliens. Ciaran's girl sported mottled purple skin, orange hair, and scaly hoof-like feet. The slave didn’t react to the Sith’s naked revulsion, though, and wisely kept her eyes fixed to the floor. 

“Marius,” Ciaran said gruffly, his back at the door. He filled a glass with water from an alcove in the wall. “She’s my new toy. Her name is—fuck it, I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter. If you’ve come to join in the fun, you should know that I don’t feel like sharing.”

Marius ignored the jibe and stepped bodily through the door, nearly flattening the slave girl in the process. He surveyed the dimly lit room and sighed when he spotted Ciaran. “You didn’t respond to my messages, so I had to come down here myself,” he complained. “We haven’t sparred in over a week, and I ship out to Hutt space tomorrow. I feel out of practice. I want to fit in a session before I leave.”

Ciaran’s glass was full. He turned from the wall and walked over to where his partner—former partner—waited in the entryway. 

Marius obviously felt guilty for informing on him to Darth Salire; the Sith hadn’t spoken the words, but he didn’t need to. The Pureblood had never been very good at hiding his emotions from Ciaran. He wasn’t out of practice; sparring was just a flimsy excuse for a visit to the comrade he betrayed. It certainly wasn't the apology that Ciaran deserved. Yet despite the history that he and Marius shared, it was all Ciaran could probably expect. Those who followed the Sith Code weren't supposed to apologize for being selfish, and Marius was too dogmatic to ask for forgiveness.

To the hells with dogma. If Marius wasn’t going to admit his mistakes, then Ciaran wouldn’t absolve them. "Get someone else," he snapped.

Marius persevered. “There is no one else. You know that Vyhra won’t spar with me. You don’t seriously expect me to practice against the droids, do you?”

“You’ll have to get used to it. There won’t be any practice buddies for you out on the Rim.” He slammed the rest of the water down his throat and motioned to the Theelin slave. “I have a headache. Get me another.”

The girl walked over and gracefully took the empty glass from Ciaran, her long fingers lingering for a moment on the Zabrak’s tattooed black and red skin. Marius fixed Ciaran with a disapproving look. “Late night, I take it?”

“Don’t judge me,” Ciaran retorted. “You don’t get to criticize me anymore, not after what you did. Snitching on me to Salire? You betrayed me, Marius.”

“What choice did I have? I asked you to stop your stupid mind games, and you laughed in my face.” Marius gestured with a gloved hand at the Theelin girl, returning with another full glass of water for Ciaran. “We have an unlimited supply of _that_ on this ship. Why did you have to start harassing _our own officers?_ ”

“Slaves don’t have any personality. They get dull quickly,” Ciaran argued, taking the glass from the girl. She shuffled away quickly and stood in the doorway to the bedroom. “I was going out of my mind, stuck on this ship day after day, only leaving for these quick hit-and-run missions. It was so boring. I had to do something.”

“I think traumatizing those officers undermined every bit of progress we were making with the Darth.”

“All you care about now is your damned career,” Ciaran spat. “A year ago you wouldn’t have bothered if I messed up an officer or two. Hell, you probably would have joined in. Do you remember what we did to those human twins? They were so fucked up they had to leave the Academy.”

Marius crossed his arms, his expression resolute. “That’s the point, Ciaran. We’re not at the Academy. The officers and soldiers aren’t our competition; they’re our assets. We’re weaker without them.”

Ciaran’s face went blank. “I could not have heard you correctly,” he said coldly. “You spent every moment of the past five years trying to become as self-sufficient as possible. You don’t need the soldiers, or the officers.” _Or me._

Marius leaned forward, pointing a gloved finger. “I’ll say the same thing I told Salire. To win this war against the Republic, we need to leverage all possible advantages. Do you think the Jedi are killing off their experienced officers?”

“So you’ve turned into a bleeding patriot.”

Marius sighed and rubbed at his brow spikes, searching for the right phrasing. “Call it what you want,” he said at last, shrugging. “Life moves on, and you move forward with it—if you stand still, you’re dead. That was true at the Academy, and it’s doubly true now. Right now, the way forward is helping the war effort.”

 _Still no apology._ It took Ciaran a while to respond. “I didn’t intend for Captain Torru to kill herself,” he finally said, his tone cooler. “That wasn’t what I wanted.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Ciaran continued. “Salire’s sending us both out on assignment. Next week I’ll begin a series of covert ops. It’ll take months. I won’t have time for games.” He leaned his back against the wall, feeling suddenly defeated. _There is no peace,_ he thought. The Pureblood was right; life was moving on again. Marius had chosen to chase power and glory, abandoning Ciaran to be Darth Salire’s errand boy.

Marius nodded. “The Darth mentioned she was sending you out on a separate mission. Listen, Ciaran.” He ran a hand through his short black hair. “Do you understand that Salire set all this in motion? She allowed you to abuse the officers, knowing that I'd eventually get involved. And she broke Torru's mind," he added. "Whatever you did to the Captain on Pampas, it wasn't bad enough to prompt her into suicide. That was our master’s doing." 

_Interesting._ Ciaran pursed his tattooed lips. “Why go through all that trouble? Why not just send us out on new missions and be done with it?"

"I suppose she wanted to separate us," Marius offered. “Maybe it’s for the best. We’ve worked together for a long time, but it couldn’t continue forever.”

It was a diplomatic response. Salire might have placed the wedge between them, but it was Marius who wielded the hammer. Despite all of the other man’s explanations, Ciaran still smarted from the blow. 

Marius had decided that his standing with Salire was more important than his partnership with Ciaran, though he’d never admit something like that out loud. In the years that Ciaran had known him, Marius had never been cruel—only ruthless.

Ciaran, however, was often cruel.

The Zabrak slapped the wall. The Theelin girl yelped, startled by the noise. He grinned fiercely at her. "So,” he said decisively, turning to Marius. “We’ve got limited time. Are you still interested in that sparring session?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this far, thank you! You are awesome; I wish you much happiness, and also superpowers.
> 
> I have the first two chapters of the next story arc queued up. I'm excited to keep this story going. Writing is hard work, but damn, guys, it's fun. **UPDATE: the first chapter of _Reqiuem_ is now published.**
> 
> The musical inspiration for this story arc was Bach's "Prelude" from _Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major._ There's subtle power and tension to it that builds, especially as the piece ends. I was hoping to capture a little bit of that essence in this first arc.


End file.
